Trying to live with a little grace, a little humor, and great shoes.

When Crazy Catches Up With You

There was that time I started banging my fist on the counter at Long’s Pharmacy. I think I even said “I’m not crazy!”

But then again, I was about eight months pregnant. I was a walking poster board for crazy.

A friend of mine, an attorney, once admitted that before children, she was offended at the term “Disability Leave” when it was applied to pregnant women. “Pregnancy is not a disability!” she insisted. And then she got pregnant. “I realized that by around 36 weeks, I was completely disabled. Emotionally, physically, mentally…get me out of this job NOW!”

So this one time, I tried to pick up a prescription from our local pharmacy. It was late, I was tired, it was raining. The gal behind the desk kept telling me I didn’t exist. “You’re not in our system.”

There should be a manual out there that having kids will make you crazy. It starts with pregnancy, and it really doesn’t stop. Yesterday my hair burst into flames after a relatively calm, cool and collected morning getting ready for school. My oldest was the last to finish breakfast. As usual.

“Don’t rush me!” he says.

That’s the point when my head popped off and started flying around the room like a deflating balloon. An hour and fifteen minutes. An hour and FIFTEEN MINUTES. All we ask is that you put on clothes and eat. That’s it. That’s all that’s been asked of you in AN HOUR AND FIFTEEN MINUTES.

I’m a mom. I can eat and get dressed and diaper a baby all at the same time. And I can do it in under ten.

I’m glad my kids are of the forgiving sort. I’m glad that I don’t use that pharmacy anymore. I’m glad that the officer who gave me a speeding ticket by jumping out in front of my car with his little ray gun thingy when I was pregnant with Colin didn’t walk up to my car right away or that might have been the next story in my litany of crazy.

Yep, Crazy has caught up with me more times than I care to remember (much less share publicly!). Our mornings don’t look too different than yours around the breakfast table, either. The pregnancy manual should also contain the disclaimer that you will become a sherpa, too.🙂 Happy Monday!